Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Where they call it 'urban coral',
Under galvanized bridges
Slimy alleys filled with the creatures that you love
With the substances [in all probability] you’re addicted to
The polyps of our smut take root
 disgustingly fertile environments flourish  
 The factories make a luxurious French-inhale
Against The burning canopy that sags in the background
Moments before it transformes… into a molten pile of (plastic)
I saw you there
Standing among the orange sellers
On the side of the freeway,
I could not resist the taste of each-and-every-single morsel you had
As if I could ever be filled.

I say this, fantasizing about a handful of Norco
And riding a train off into god-knows-where, for who-cares-why
Because I believe that money is the Santa clause for adults.
And that there are way too many people
To those same lumberjacks that believe in making the world a better place
What I mean is that everyone is a liar.

Where we can no longer remain a part of your world
And still call ourselves “sane”
Because There is a reason cyanobacteria can grow
in the steamy wet cracks of the pustules of the earth
Fungus learned how to carry it up rocks, like the flag of the universal
each step backwards brings us closer and closer to the essence  
But this world cannot carry that banner
in this psychological charade we are at the mercy of the mushrooms-
This sphere engenders the illusion of perfection
As if any one of us could ever become
The madness that our respective minds cook up
Perfection is only a theory
Excellence is the particular phenomenon   
in which; somewhere between everything and nothing
lies absolution


Sunday, October 24, 2010


There is nothing that I seek more than power.
Power in all things
Fundamental to the human condition
Power, a means to something more  
A means to defining what
…but not why.
I want it enough to endure poverty
Humiliation, servitude, enslavement
Because my power is my own
exercises in it’s own way …as hooks are cast into it
with the polite text message that signifies, …nothing

I have never touched the other side
Never seen the world through your eyes
Or entertained such ideas

I cannot see for shit.
As I listen between the æther for your sounds
As the brain can see without eyes …in its way
in sync with the synchronicity
of the mutual energy we share

we all feast on the wrath of this place
the constant lament
that they want us to call ‘life’
constantly accepting premises that require madness
always getting lower and lower for the empty threats
cast by irrelevant shadows

the secret is simple: ignite those shadows with the light
Bring them asunder within the spark of your humanity

Though it will make darkness that much darker
It will convert you into that without title
homo sapiens will be crushed under the gaze
their strength is not to be underestimated
the fear in their minds can blind them in fury

though most actions take place without thought
we have not escaped the influence of insects
as all things have a power, in their way
the ability to take existence; of couse,
being the most lasting
…and relatively easy

But the infection of fear is just as good
And we must recognize this as well:
I want you to listen, to not be afraid
The paradox, quite comically; 
‘the only way to get people to listen quickly is through the pressures of fear’
Because cowardice dances through the hearts of the defeated

Every. Single. day.  

And it is there in the vacant: “that’s not my department.”
It’s there in the idle: “you’ll need to talk to John about that.”

As the artificiality pours in through the cracks of our respective æther
…or put another way:  
As it eats away at our love

Like some sort of toxic, acidic, sap that none can entirely avoid
And even less can remove
But it can be shed, in the forest of the subconscious
On the floors of wherever music plays
It will get swept up, thrown away, and carted off
To become an artificial forest
For new inspiration to grow

The problem with power is that it is bullshit.
Because power has to be kept,
it must be organized and catalogued
and that is a lot of work

when giving it up as affection
allowing it resonation between everything
there is no need to have power
but an incredibly encouraging reason to share it.
somehow more than 'fundamental' to the human condition

...and by all means;
take this with you wherever you go.

Friday, October 22, 2010


Something akin to that super-fast pop a light bulb makes
A volatile ammonium-nitrate burn in an open wound
The feeling of being struck, intentionally, in the head
These are my memories you.
That ire of resentment that you harbor as a badge
Like a trash ship frigate in an extended stay on port
You love me like a tree that bears fruit
You consume it
And pat yourself on the back for the wonderful job you believe you have done
All the while diluting yourself
That nothing can grow without the misery you cause
Putting yourself between everything, unnecessarily
Belie-ing  my reality that you are obsolete
and dependent upon the fruit of the misery-tree

& I have to admit, it is quite addictive.

I think of you as the bad dream, I never wake from
Where satisfaction is knowing that you have left your mark,
On, an within me
A certain pleasure I imagine
Of knowing that in the dirge of my life
Half of the lines are committed to you

As the eyes ignite in the hatred
you had for my father
in the pretext that if you can damage me
in some celestial carnage way,
it could echo back to him

but he’s fucking dead, and he never cared

unfortunately I will stand at your casket
As your pickled heart outlives
The countless lives of the friend you don’t have
Because you could have any
Because you were 20 and with child.

I look forward to that day and imagine purchasing the cheapest, stupidest, poorest specimen of Lagerstromia Speciosa

But even I have more heart than that.
And more empathy than to give something as bad a start
as you gave me.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

4 walls

This is the realm
Where one passes through
Throwing our tired bodies, wherever
So we can all play house
Power-washing Everything spotlessly clean
sterility rolls like a thin vapor through
immense parking lots of the Starbucks and the Wal-mart
the sacrifices of the promethean
become meaningless in the well-lit, drive-thru parks
where that obnoxious noise of helicopters is commonplace

As the empty space between everything
Consumes everything
 Dissolving everything in the caustic soda of sameness

slowly suffocating in the smog
as I look out upon the sprawling red worm 
making me reevaluate my commitment
to anywhere I might have wanted to be  

In the drone of incessant lawnmowers
The wake of gasoline
Our heroes of advertisement
shedding their names in far-off places
As reptilian skin
I have seen their flags fly
At shopping centers
And the counter-culture remains anonymously paralyzed
pushed into the corners
Of cinderblock courts with the same, exact, everything.  

My brilliant neighbors thoughtfully offer me signs
Selling their; religion, their Chocolate, and their Insurance
As they try to give me the infection of their lies.
As they moronically imagine that the evil I have seen
could ever be sedated enough
to make coupons a concern
as I save the last valium, for later
after they have eaten their dogs & clawed each other to death
with their fingernails

the phantoms of substances past
float as stale as the air
in the boxes
that they put us all in
always wandering aimlessly for the homecoming in my brain

the homeless and the feline, blankly staring-
Constantly whispering the answers in the adjacent alleys
Irrelevant that their tears dried so long ago
They never really learned to cry
While simultaneously  
It became their only way to communicate
As they flee in terror
from the fascinating mechanical monsters
That pick up the trash
And sweep the streets

This is the hell where they eviscerated my wings
Under the film of latex
Splayed them out like glorious trophies
And all conversation collapsed …awkwardly
As I fainted from the loss of blood
Waking up in a network of cul-de-sacs
-confusing parking regulations
-sport-utility vehicles
-fluorescent lighting of 24hour ‘farmacies’
and that vile, saccharine, artificial, impersonal tone
that is liberally used as the thread  
Suturing me back
Into a world where
I no longer reign or serve anything

Sunday, October 17, 2010


In the rare Los Angeles rain
The mist falling faintly on the gray city
The roads charging blindly
And I don’t want to go home
To the barrage of incessant questions
I am Missing You.
Afraid to let go of my memories of you
because I did
telling the daughter of a Mexican druglord
the same thing;
from the ripped up fabric of the bottom of my heart
You have to let go.
The words ricochet off of the retaining walls
Back into the car
Snapping my head back
Like the bullet I cannot seem to place
The helicopters boom
Charging into the skyline as vultures seeking carrion
The gray streets holding stagnant to the floodplain of concrete and humans
The gray infesting everything
How I wish I had a little of your color in my life
To brighten up this bland sterile place
How I wish I did not have to live
with the decisions that we agreed on
So many years ago in that gray room with those grey people
  How I wish.
The roads curve and buckle and the perpetual disneyland of LA
Plays itself out repeatedly, incessantly
Thinking of the falcon-faced women of my current situation
How flatly they look at me as If I were another gray statue
Melted from acid rain, with pigeon filth
Carved by some common sculptor
If only they could see my true form, in color
Lacking the luminosity that we once shared
Their gaze is not the blooming snapdragons
of intoxication
it deserves a cold place like this
for the insignificant to enrapture themselves
in the shroud of, blah-
as the animus falls down emasculated in a field of stone
and the cars charge forward all the same
the money flitters off  to who-cares-where…
at a steady pace  in this bland parade
where I am missing you.
So far from the warm summers of our dogs, and our cat tranquilizers, and our futurama
All of it lapped up by that rabid hound
In the loud stone swamp
that rolled it up in the cacophony
of the man I used to be
the mountain trails that we put the deft boot of our conquests to, overgrow
like the gardens we warped into monuments
 of that fluorescent pink substance
we lit this bland nowhere with
after all this time
it is unfortunate that on this grey, monotonous day
I am missing you.
because it does'nt reflect you at all

just what you became with me


I would not follow me
Into the darkness
Where the footsteps trail off
And you lose earshot
Where I am so comfortable

as we cultivate humanity
importance is lost
for something like me
in the danse macabre
of your yearning eyes

I lurk in this scarecrow
Waiting for the black birds
That come to blather
Holding my hand to the sky
Anticipating the lightning

I am sure that we all hear the voices
Of the who and what to be
The whispers in the blue hour
Tell me everything I need
Inviting the strike of soft lips

Learning from the Ricinus
In the dirge of the lions  
Toccata, written in blood
you will find my thirst for
manifestations of power


Thursday, October 14, 2010

Saccarine Hope

the sound fills the room
pushing the air out of it
we all fall down in suffocation
i scream out in asphyxiation
but nobody hears the noise

your eyes light up in the moonlight
turning you into something else
as we become something more
i dont struggle with the keys to this door
though i cross over the broken to reach it

it is a wasteland i see in my dreams
bleached bones in the setting sun
when all others have fallen still
when they cast their stones that i am ill
i am lost in this place, i made it myself

i know that you forgive me
you always have in years past
you guys know i have tried
at no point have i lied
but the paradigm shifts without us

 now as the time comes marching
the distortions have made themselves clear
our old glories have faded
our hearts become jaded
its impossible to grasp what's not there

where can i go for this visceralty
we've become enfeebled with wants
with lives carved of stone
let them fear the unknown
floundering in the receding tide

were it not for the few
there would be no reason to stay
we are the forerunners, fresh from the fight
into an ominous evening for a long hellish night
just let this burden end

 the ideas will pass
but none of us will
nothing is here that can replace
when everything else is here to erase
what trivial dreams i have had 

 this place could be so much more
if value was a thing that is valued
the day will come, though
when the leviathan will know
as i doubt that we will ever see it

Lucifer two.

i suppose it's irrelovent now
i suppose the time has passed
the flags have flown
the glory has faded

the world grows darker and darker each passing day
each day it burns off a little more
ultimately there will be nothing when this light is out

i have struggled to light this way
to light this dark place
to grasp that wich is nothing
yet the time gnaws

time gnaws away at us,
all of us, and her and him, and them, and all the clever conjugation i can devise
it wears me down
though this is the brightest i have ever been

even in these 'dark' hours
have i brought you anything? or just more chaos?
i have not made your lives better...
i have not made you happier...
no, quite the contrary, i have shown you void and darkness and vaccum

and then they thank me for it?
and then they ask for more?
i dont want you to hurt, hurt like i do
yet they seek to be like me?
the seek the result and none of the route
they seek the product and none of the process
and still they cannot see that the scars are almost ...structural
the struggle is a kind of a

such is the way.
such is the nature of darkness
this is the governance of time

curse this impermanent place, and its denizens
fuck these cheap, plactic, dreams
destroy this body and everything in it
burn these words so they will go away
light up this soul to suck it into darkness
and yet, it still would not be enough

this fire can grow infinitely dim and not go out
a smouldering mass of elegantly cursed flesh
to be Lucifer, the chosen, the gifted above all else
though the burden be heavy and the costs are vast
where collateral damage is the state of being

here is the precipice of man!
this is where the divine light dilutes into the darkness of chaos
this is where life and death hid within one another
it is what i am

and you can do nothing
  i hate you.

i fucking hate you,

...only to realize that your light is my own.

Lucifer 1

These broken wings will never fly
Thes hands that hurt and use
The openings in my mind
Don’t ever seem to fuse

Fallen down in the ashes
Where growth did once stand
I never needed any clues
I never raised a hand

White with aspirations
Hot with wet lust
I’ll eat only the best of it
And toss away the crust  

There is nothing but color here
Ideas and dreams, we say
Aether fills the vacant room
And turns the night to day

The paint goes on in empty layers
The colors never dry
On a canvas made of flesh
That lets out a soft sigh

These broken wigs will never heal
I never want them to
I am the bringer of the light
I’ve given all I can to you

Castle of Sugar

If I do nothing,
Just sit,
Hold my breath it will come,
they will come for me
pick the sugar out of me
carry it back to their hive
mix it into themselves and call it their own
like a cow being milked, attach your machines to me and take
if I just sit, do nothing,
the phone will ring,
"where are you?" it will ask, "we are out of sugar”
Come and get it you whores
Feast on my flesh.
Eat me alive so that I may experience you
Drive me to the edge to remain obsessed with the trivial
I can throw all the sugar at it,
Lap it up greedily
Show me I am worthless;
I am not the one that hungers for it
I am not the one that depends on the collective to stand
Yet they come for me none the less
Bearing blue lights, casting white silhouettes
They come for me, driven by their thirst
to have a part of what I have
just leave me alone so that I can enjoy it myself
leave me alone so that I can be happy
I wish they would all go away
I wish they would all go away so that I could just sit,
I can’t just sit, I am not able to
The moment I do, boredom does not come
There is no silence in this unquiet mind
There are no ants in the sugar factory, they are not allowed
This place is powered by dreams
This place is powered by dark energy
This place is powered by anger and hate
But this place is beautiful
In it’s chaos it is so elegant,
assertive magic
This place is always under siege
Daily, it is under new management
The walls of this castle are a different dimension
Why wont they just leave me alone?
No amount of it will get them away from me

nevermind, have some sugar,
 ive got lots
take as much as you like

...everyone does


it will be nice to put my gloves on again
and pretend.
pretend that i am invincible.
a thing i [clearly] am not
with the cold i will have the excuse to cover their shame
pretend that under that flat color there are not two disfigured hands.
they have touched everything,
... held such beautiful things
and hurt with such impunity
and carressed with such delicacy
and harmed with so much cruelty
they have carried my shame
they have been the image of my affection
they have given everything

in them i feel the pain of the sunflower
i feel the thirst of the orchids
and i seek to absolve these things
by absorbing them, and knowing their pain
and knowing their thirst touching them.
-i shouldnt touch them-
it has brought me so little positive
& so much woe at same time
thats the problem with feeling
it is a paradox of unparalleled magnitude
this hurt is mine alone
and so few can relate
those that can, console me...
they understand what this is like
and they make my time a bit easier
and they comfort me
to which i realize; i dont want to be consolidated
above all else; i want to feel.

Garden of the Moon

 Mycelium threads have bound us together
As though a spider web covered in dew
And, viscous mucous, from insufflated narcotics 
It is backlit with the sunrise that never seems to come
Our affair is the eternal blue-hour
In our dank underworld where I take you as Persephone 
and we will rule the darkness; king and queen.
at least,
how it lives,
in my imagination.
I remember your loving face when we met,
So many years ago when I was still asleep
In the sedation of affluence
when  I disposed of blondes like mismatched parts to my incredible machine
just like my cats;
… as monuments to myself
we were so young then,
naïve, the dance we held was so energetic & out of focus
 became experienced
 powerful in our spheres
saw that power in one another;
mighty are those who have powerful dreams
I dream of you often, and what your hair smells like
When we are not varnished in chemical-rich sweat
In your eye still harnesses that look-
The one that
casts a pink ribbon of silence over my lips
returned, in kind, with the voltage of my being
though I share it with all; I give it to no others,
and you know that.
I imagined our world together and our numerous adventures.
How I will never grow tired of your being.
I imagined the day When you realized your amazing effect upon me.
How silly that moment of silence would be and
yet so decadent.  And yet so fictitious all the same.
As we got up from hotel rooms, cracked-out, brainpudding
dragging oily smoke into those LA hotel mornings
made of the stuff that killed Hollywood
and raped Beverly Hills, and ended the lives of more people than either of us even
want  to think about
over the long intoxicated summers, when I never thought to say the words-
as the rising sun turned us back into our true forms.
Black sky fading to a treacherous blue that
brought with it all the responsibilities of the world.
Pushed us away from one another for so many years, as it
slipped away for another several months. To slip away again and again…
And again.
As I did.
What we have is the eternal sunrise
Where an ambiguous crescent  slips through the sky  and never fades or grows
Where battle hardened steel is never too glorious for a thin coat of oil.
 The carnal embrace of the psychological effect
  More than anything we have the dance-
that negates all others
and feeds all human hearts
where we rule the underworld,
one chaos-laden night after another
one  night at a time.
Though I’ll have you know; because I will say the words:
I love you more than anything.
I loved you then as I love you now
As I do every-single-time I see you
And it is this twisted fantasy that I will ever
be able to tell you this
this lie it what keeps me anchored to your world
and I live for it,
I live for that electronic tryst
When the flowers of our humanity open
In the bass-rich forest of the moonlight.

Playing Human

There is a glass celing
An invisible floor
Stretching us through time
In our own way.
As a layer of us dissolves
Each day
Into the dream
That remains stagnantly constant.
Each day lasting a little more to become,

Truth is; that make came with a title.
Made as fine as any factory floor could design.
Fine architecture, good materials, but-
It was not meant to last
Not in the real world, because
Something happened to the machine
It stood up .
Claiming, all along, that something went on inside its little circuitry that separated it
From other machines
“We’ll have none of this rubbish!” cried the appliances.
But the machine was not an appliance.

And all the conversation stopped, awkwardly.

Darkness crept into the room like an evil fog rolling in. it looked an awful lot like smoke.
All the mechanical shit just sat there like the brainless disposable crap it was.
Being ‘applicable’ apparently.

Then visions of fluorescent kittens began to play. They tumbled and frolicked-

Then the machine cried out; “I am bat-shit crazy!”
And then it fucking exploded;
shooting shrapnel
through the glass ceiling and the invisible floor
& was pleased to not have to
 be stretched through time anymore.


She looked at me with this stare so blank
That I feel her eyes cower
As if my shadow was growing exponentially larger
Filling up the whole-fucking-room.

And it is true, and it is the most honest expression I have:

“I don’t love you.”

When they do that good-cop bad-cop shit to me in jail
The detective’s shoulders bulged like he was wearing a dachshund under his shirt
 “How would you describe your art?”
And interestingly, I thought of you
As you threw my canvas across the house
it hit the ground like a dilapidated animal
 screamed that what I so-called art could get the fuck out of your house all the same.
But then showed up to my opening wanting to discuss my work
like you gave a shit
because the image of being supporting holds more validity

I learned not to cry
reinforced with your incrementally increasing violence
with your belief that abuse is only physical
like the shotgun shells grandma emptied on your twin
who, to this day
thinks that he is a worthless slob
and remains married to that fat creature
that no society would ever call ‘woman’

as I stand in the white walls of gallery after gallery
as curators lift an eyebrow
set down a glass
roll their eyes in disbelief at those two words
 “psychological efficacy.”

To which I imagine myself abruptly slapping them so hard in the face that they collapse in a heap.
Do you think that any curator, anywhere
Who has been waiting for our appointment all day
would prop themself up
And laugh as hysterically as I did?

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Sweet brown sugar scent
 permeates everything
because every word  spoken
came out all wrong
because everything was more intense than it really was
 gauged, by the responses I got .
I need to go back to a university
Where people don’t give a shit,
Just like in the ‘real world’
Because people like me
cannot exist without fame
And constantly being ignored
I want to tell you everything
So badly,
without sounding like some crazy ex-boyfriend
You once knew.
Their eyes sometimes burn into me
Leaving tracers of who they are
-a child as it sat in the grass
-a boy on a skateboard
-A woman at the farmer’s market
I remember them for a few days and animate their eyes
the madness I take them for
as we all play house
here in the suburbs
our spirits dying slightly
with every traffic-laden Friday afternoon
critical eyes tearing up everything
inside the mental library
I haven’t ever really organized
As I drink coffee religiously
Because ethanol has become a burden
As all things come second to our transportability
As the words:   
 And incarceration
 Float aimlessly in the cabin of a pickup
Driven by an aged-beyond-years prophet
That only wants to be loved by his mother
This is where I sit. Frozen and Stagnant
I dream so Loudly
That I heard their car come to a screech
and crash down the street,
I invited them to come live in my garden
But nobody died.
So I went out to weed the next morning
Dreaming of coming on the faces
of all those models I once knew
who now have also dropped out of the IVY
and got addicted
and work at In-n-out
and destroyed every connection to me
because I am the devil
bearing consumable gifts.
I want to tell you how I ride the mountain
And how they eviscerated my wings
 hanging them up like spread trophies
monuments of what advantages
money has over poverty
as I learned about ‘hobo code’ and the difference
between the middle and wealthy classes.
I want to hold you and touch your skin
Which I am sure is guarded by now,
As if you haven’t had just as much experience
everyone that inhabits this space surely has
to bring light to this place
as I only know of one way
Seeking the mechanics of everything
Is the failing business
That I run, because I know how to steal
The sport was lost years ago… with my wings
When I was left on the side of the road unconscious
And walked back to the suburbs
Where I became trapped in cul-de-sac s
And nobody ever believed I had ever
been close enough to god
To spit in his face

Friday, October 8, 2010

Burning bridges

Where we stand is just  ashes  in the river.
Virgin carbon, rather. 
Pure again.

Clean,           clean as the dying day.
Backlight the trees in flame.
When it was smothered away
To the vulgarity that’s always sane.

for the heartless  thoughtful
The beauty of the dragons wings
the detonation of my love
flicks shrapnel into everything

where we are is just ashes in the river
the shores where music never played
our dreams extinguished in the water
because you hid yourself for me
refusing to let me see.

disfiguring the possibilities
giving way to the suffocation
crushing the subtle delicacies
in the acid of degradation

where the thoughts burn,  bright as stars
battlegrounds appointing empty synergy
searing hot embers splash from the scars
as thunder  still gallops, through the misery

where we are is just ashes in the river
the shores where music never played
our dreams extinguished in the water
because you hid yourself for me
refusing to let me see.

played poorly, diligent and dutiful
abreast of corruption, your words could not make
the pollution glows as  beautiful
and yet, everything, so fake

steal from the warden
free what lies within
release me from this dungeon 
so that I may soar again

you’ll stay on your side of the border
because I am casting the flame
to become purified in fire
as you won’t be riding with me again

where we are is just ashes in the river
the shores where music never played
our dreams extinguished in the water
because you hid yourself for me
refusing to let me see.